Page 18 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

He indulged it all the same.

“Does it need to be pointed, Cristhian?”

He lifted a shoulder. Did his best to embody a casual carelessness he didn’t exactly feel at the moment. “What is it you want to know then?”

She rested her chin on her fist as if she took that question very seriously. “Who were you raised by after your parents died?”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but not that, and he did not care for the way it made him feel like he was backed into a corner, in a defensive position. Particularly when it was clear she was curious, not starting some kind of war.

Pretending the answer meant more than it did would no doubt give her ammunition for whatever battles lay ahead, so he spelled it out as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“I bounced around family. They had a lot of it.”

“They? Not you?”

“My father’s family was interested, but American and less powerful when it came to things like citizenships and titles. My mother’s family was not the biggest proponent of her marriage. I was...a problem to be solved more than anything, but an heir of sorts, whether they liked it or not. And a convenient story to trot out when they wanted attention.”

“I have found that you do not have to be the result of a disdained marriage to be considered a problem to be solved.”

Cristhian studied her as she finished the last bite of her breakfast. “You are a princess. An heir. What’s the problem?”

“I had more interest in playing football than learning protocol. I was much better at sneaking around the rules than following them. I need...ed freedom and fresh air, and there is little of that to be had while growing up a princess. My sister would have been better suited, I think, to some of it, but...” She shrugged her shoulders.

“You are older?” he prompted when she said nothing more. He could have found this information out himself, but in hiswork he found the stories people told themselves, and then shared, offered more information than facts did.

“No. Beau is actually three minutes older. But since there were two of us, my parents got to choose who would be considered the heir. They held it over our heads like a prize, but neither of us were too eager to win it.”

“Then how did you get chosen?”

“I was deemed prettier. Easier to mold. My sister... She has a head for details. She could recite protocol back to you better than even my father. But...” She shook her head, and the smile on her face was found even though she was explaining her own demise. “You cannot threaten or manipulate Beaugonia. She will do as she will. I...did not like the consequences my parents threatened me with, so I learned to pretend better than she did. And so I was chosen.”

She leaned forward then, a serious, intent look on her face. When she spoke, it was with a quiet, careful fervor. “If I am returned to my father, he will insist we marry. Since you are royal, we will be named heirs to his throne. Me as queen, you as something. And we will be told to make the same choices with our children. Well, unless one is a boy and one is a girl. Guess who gets chosen then.”

He did not like the picture she painted at all, but he also had infinite confidence that if he did return her to King Rendall, Cristhian would find a way to get whathewanted out of the arrangement. She wouldn’t sway his opinion of what must be done, of what would be best. So what struck him in the moment was herunless one is a boy.

“You do not know the sex of the babies?”

She sat back in her chair, rested her hands over that swell of her stomach. “I wanted to be surprised,” she returned, so primly and without meeting his gaze that he knew there was more to that story than she was giving him at the moment.

But he would know it eventually.

“The doctor will tell us. So that we can make the appropriate plans.”

She eyed him then, with a disdain he didn’t care to admit made him want to fidget.

Unheard of.

“It does not matter their sex. They will not be heirs to anything. I will not imprison my children.”

“Come, Princesa, surely you’re not so dramatic as to likenprisonto the privilege and opportunity you were raised with.”

“I try to tell myself that. I try to be grateful for all that I have, but, Cristhian, do you have any idea what it’s like to know everything you are is a mismatch for the life you are expected to lead? And so the entirety of that life stretching out before you will be nothing but a farce. For someone else. Never yourself.”

He didn’t scowl at her, though he wanted to. “So many people concerned with themselves, and so little concern for the people who must deal with the fallout of their actions.”

The rejoinder didn’t seem to land as he’d hope it might. She tilted her head and studied him, as though she could see straight through. When no one saw straight through.

Not even yourself.

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